


What's Your Wager?

by InspiredDitto



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InspiredDitto/pseuds/InspiredDitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of setbacks has plagued Bulma these last few months. With Christmas right around the corner, ChiChi is worried and decides to offer a playful bet to help lighten her mood. Bulma is set on a path that she never expected while battling one of her biggest demons...herself. Will she ever be able to save her sanity despite the cosmos determined to work against her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hit or Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [springandbysummerfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/springandbysummerfall/gifts), [Mallie3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallie3/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to Mallie-3 and Springandbysummerfall. Not only was it a part of the We're Just Sayin' Google+ community gift exchange in 2014 for Mallie-3 originally(whoops!) with the writing prompt: "The main reason why Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live" - George Carlin. It was also quietly read and encouraged by Springandbysummerfall as it has been developing and fleshed out more recently. I made the final push to have it written and ready for the holidays these past 4 months and I appreciate Springandbysummerfall's diligence in reading and offering constructive criticism when needed. I have only a few more chapters to write, but most of it is done and ready. This is my Christmas gift to all of you!
> 
> Welcome to my first attempt at lighthearted comedy, yeah yeah I know...completely out of character for me. It's supposed to be a reflection of the characters, themselves, without sticking to strict characterization from the original series. Intending for this story to be silly, fun and still grounded in real-life struggles, I understand that it deviates. This is an alternate universe created for laughter and enjoyment and I hope that is what it brings you this holiday season!

Lighting a cigarette between pouted rose lips, Bulma drew slowly on the glowing stick between her slender fingers. Wrist hanging loosely while watching a thin ribbon of smoke curling upwards in lazy escape, Bulma couldn't help but wish she could do the same. She eyed the room from her corner perch. Her gold stiletto hooked on the chair's footrest made her knee curve perfectly for her crossed leg to rest comfortably. One arm bent on the cocktail table cradled her elbow in the palm of her hand as she released a sigh clouded with cigarette smoke. She took another long drag of her cigarette before flicking the powdery end against the ashtray.

Blowing the smoke from the side of her mouth with an irritated huff, she watched a pair of delicate manicured hands wrap around the arm of an all too familiar, neatly pressed navy blazer. Straight blonde strands curtaining the girl's face didn't hide the pearly smile or long lashes batting flirtatiously at the man in the jacket. A jolt of jealousy when his face lit up in a warm grin welcoming the attention was sickeningly green in intensity.

Angrily trying to stab the cigarette through the ashtray to extinguish it, two already expired ends sticking up in surrender from suffering the same fate, she turned her attention to a nearby monitor. She sipped her wine absentmindedly as the image on the screen warned of a low-pressure system starting to develop in the Western part of the country. To her it was just a series of disconnected images flashing on the screen. What held her attention was the intensity of her want to go home that was directly related to the juxtaposition of the blonde who was sidling up to the navy blazer.

She didn't even notice when her best friend, ChiChi, slid easily onto the chair next to her with another round of drinks for them both.

"Jeez, Bulma." Her tone laden with disapproval, ChiChi wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I thought you quit that nasty habit years ago."

Eyeing her friend over the rim of her glass, Bulma knocked back the last of her moscato before setting it aside to make room for its replacement.

"I guess this will just help end my year with a bang, then." Bulma grumbled, snatching the new glass of wine from her friend's hand.

Bulma was stuck at the Titans' annual Holiday Charity Gala. Her once-long-time-boyfriend-now-ex-fiancé was living up the single life while she was still picking up the pieces from their break up. When she attended the Gala last year, they were newly engaged and, she had believed, madly in love. He was more than happy to show her off on his arm while women's gazes trailed after him wistfully. Now she hid at one of the cocktail tables lining the edge of the venue as West City's finest elites - business moguls, investors and celebrities - worked the circuit of renewing stale networking connections and pocketing new ones. Even the well-known faces from neighboring towns floated in and out of the foray.

Bulma's father, founder and president of Capsule Corporation, was the brains behind the largest tech company of West City. Just as integral as inventing, the need to mingle with current investors and potential backers helped to keep the company thriving. Her father, more intrigued by the process of creating versus the dryness of attending social functions, had passed the torch to his daughter for events such as this.

On any other evening, she enjoyed meeting new people. She loved immersing herself in conversation about politics and the advances in the scientific community, especially when it veered in the direction of practical application. Where science currently resided, theories about its future and setbacks that force companies, such as her father's, to rethink and revolutionize were topics she passionately engaged in. Those that frequented these events had often shared numerous conversations with her. The real thrill for Bulma, though, was when someone new to the scene challenged her expertise. They were the ones who saw her only as a pair of legs working the circuit to keep funding flowing for her father's company and treated her as such. It was always satisfying to put these naïve naysayers in their place. They learned, rather quickly, that Bulma Briefs was the other half of Capsule Corporation's inventions and ideas. She donned overalls and grease just as easily as an evening gown and makeup. Working as a second set of hands for her father since she first showed interest in his labs, she was born with a bow in her hair and a wrench in her fist.

The event wouldn't be so terrible, in fact she would have enjoyed herself immensely, if Yamcha wasn't in attendance as well. A starting player for West City's major league baseball team, he was obligated to attend as part of his contract with the team. The autumn event, hosted annually by the West City Titans, brought in funds to help families in need during the holiday season. Bulma was there not only for Capsule Corporation's benefit, but to also show support for such a noble and generous cause by helping to give back to the community.

When the blonde leaned in to giggle something into Yamcha's ear, Bulma turned away in disgust.

"Ignore him." ChiChi urged. "You're a single gal now! You should be working the room and making him jealous of you, not the other way around."

"I guess," Bulma sighed. Twirling the stem of her glass in her fingers, she watched the pale liquid slosh around the as it left ghostly trails clinging to the sides.

"How about a bet?" ChiChi offered.

"A bet?" Bulma asked, perking up a bit.

Bulma was grateful that ChiChi allowed herself to be convinced to come. Although ChiChi's boyfriend, Goku, was sharing laughs and drinks with Yamcha and some of his teammates, it was nice to have an ally or two to help buffer the hushed gossip about their breakup which Bulma knew was the hot topic of the evening. Although ChiChi immediately took Bulma's side during the messy break up, Goku was his natural good-hearted self during the fallout. He refused to play favorites, despite the details in each side of their story, and instead remained neutral.

That's why Bulma kept him as a friend. No matter how bad someone's actions were, he was always able to find the good in a person despite all of the bad.

"What's your wager?" Bulma could feel the fog of her depression thin briefly.

"Dish duty…for a month."

"Dish duty? With as much as you have Goku over, are you sure you want to put that on the table?" Bulma teased. "You know feeding a small army has less clean-up then feeding him…dirtying almost every pot and pan we have. Are you sure you're willing to banish him from the house for an entire month after you lose?"

"What makes you so sure you're going to win?" ChiChi shot back with a smile. "You haven't even heard the details."

"I'm sure it will be a breeze." Bulma leaned forward with elbows resting on the table. She loved a challenge. With the possibility of being able to avoid dishwashing for the next four weeks, she was eager to accept. "What are your terms?"

"You have to get the number of a guy –"

"Oh, that's easy!"

" – of my choice. No matter who I choose."

"On the condition that he has to be single." Bulma interjected with hand raised. "I don't need any more drama in my life right now."

"Agreed. You have until the auction or else you lose."

"Deal." Bulma stuck her hand out towards her friend. ChiChi's hand grasped Bulma's and a firm handshake was exchanged.

"So," Bulma's gaze drifted around the room studying the sea of faces bobbing before her. "Who's the lucky guy that gets to be hit on by moi?"

"Hmm," ChiChi scanned the room looking for the perfect guy to sabotage Bulma's efforts. "Oh! How about Mr. Short and Handsome over there?"

Bulma looked in the direction she was pointing.

"Krillin?!" Bulma squealed in surprised horror over ChiChi picking one of Yamcha's closest friends. "Are you kidding me?"

"No!" ChiChi waved her hand dismissing the short, bald catcher on the team. "Behind him! The one who's leaning against the bar. His back is to us."

Bulma squinted through the crowd to see who ChiChi was referring to. Her face went slack when he turned around.

Bulma recognized exactly who ChiChi picked.

"I know," ChiChi grinned. "Quite a catch, right?"

"No." Bulma sat back with arms crossed defiantly. "No, no, no, no, no. Pick someone else."

"Why?" ChiChi asked, confused by Bulma's reaction. "What's wrong with him? He may be a little short, but he sure is handsome."

"You don't know who he is?" Eyebrows raised in surprise, Bulma stared at her friend. "Seriously?"

"No I don't." Looking in Mr. Short-and-Hansom's direction, ChiChi shrugged. "Enlighten me."

Bulma cleared her throat and said matter-of-factly, "He's only the most self-centered, bigoted, pretentious asshole this side of West City."

"Who's an asshole?" Bulma turned to see Goku standing behind her with a drink in-hand.

"You're girlfriend." She said, shooting ChiChi a wink. "Are you enjoying the event?"

"Oh definitely!" Goku sat in the empty chair across from Bulma. "Thanks for inviting us." Sliding his seat closer to ChiChi, Bulma watched his hand move to hold ChiChi's under the table. Knowing the two of them all too well, she knew exactly how their fingers would be threaded with a comforting squeeze before settling on ChiChi's knee.

Fighting back the nostalgic longing tightening in her chest, Bulma cleared her throat. "Your welcome." Forcing the pang down, she drew up a warm smile. "It's the least I can do for everything you guys have done for me."

"Someone has to take care of you." ChiChi joked, winking at Bulma.

"So why's Cheech an asshole?" Goku asked, bringing the conversation back to the bet.

"I made a wager with Bulma," ChiChi explained. "I bet her an entire month's worth of dish duty that she couldn't get a phone number from – " Chi-Chi pointed at Mr. Short-and-Handsome " – that guy."

A moment of silence passed before Goku let out a low whistle. "Mr. Breigh from Train Insane? Wow, Cheech…you must really hate doing the dishes."

ChiChi looked from Goku to Bulma and back to Goku utterly confused. "How do you both know who he is and I don't?"

"I know of him because I make it a point to know anyone that makes a seven digit salary and who is a powerful investor who might set his sights on Capsule Corp. He - " Bulma thumbed in gesture at Goku, " – knows of him because any fitness fanatic in the Northern Hemisphere has been inundated with Train Insane's gyms and paraphernalia. He has a reputation of having the same control issues as a dictator with every business he invests in. He pretty much works his way into the company by any means necessary, buying shares and seizing assets, then absorbs them through his incorporation. Capsule Corp has been sure to avoid the waters that shark swims in. I have no want to go anywhere near him."

ChiChi waved her hand dismissively at Bulma. "I thought you were a mastermind genius or something. I'm sure you'll figure out a way to separate business from pleasure." She gave Bulma a wink. "Besides, going head to head with a power player like the one you just described might help you get out of your funk. Our couch cushion is starting to sag a bit."

"Oh ha ha ha." Bulma sighed. "Sorry Cheech but that's not going to happen. You're going to have to pick someone else."

"Nope. We agreed to the terms - a man of my choosing. You shook on it. The bet is on, unless you choose to forfeit?" ChiChi beamed with the knowledge that she bested her genius friend. It was a rare occasion when she could pull one over on Bulma. "Goku, sweetheart, would you like to come over tomorrow evening for dinner? I'll make sure to cook you a scrumptious four course meal with a succulent desert." She teased evilly.

"Alright! Alright!" Bulma conceded with hands up in surrender. She shot daggers at her turncoat friend. "I'll do it." Chair easily sliding away from the table, Bulma stood. "I have to go to the bathroom, first."

"I would wish you good luck, Bulma," Goku flashed her a toothy grin, "But that dinner tomorrow night sounds too good to pass up!"


	2. Anywhere but Here

"You can do this." Bulma muttered. "You are Bulma fucking Briefs. Men have been trailing after you since high school. You manage a Fortune Five-Hundred company, for Kami's sake. You've created some of the most innovative technological advances that have been decades ahead of their time. There's nothing to be nervous about."

The figure standing in front of her still seemed skeptical. The feigned confidence appeared to fall flat the minute the words left her lips. Her reflection stared back at her expectantly. Did it expect her to lose the bet? To make a fool out of herself? To continue the downward spiral of failure she couldn't seem to shake off the past few months?

Her reflection couldn't hide her lack of confidence behind the designer gown or makeup and curls. Instead, the glass revealed the insecurities she had been wrestling with since she was a child. While the last few weeks unwound around her, the struggles of her past began to haunt her.

As a child, she was spellbound by the mysteries of science. While girls were dressing up dolls and playing house, Bulma was discovering to world through her own adventures and equations. As boys were being taught how to change the oil in their hand-me-down cars, Bulma was getting her own hands dirty learning the hands-on engineering skills necessary to be just as apt, if not more so, as her father. Girls couldn't relate to her and boys were intimidated by her which made her childhood troublesome. Labeled as an outcast, Bulma found solace in physics. It was as much of a puzzle as it was a surety. Never completely predictable but always constant, she took comfort in knowing that the secrets of the universe were waiting to be discovered under her inquisitive eyes and sure hands.

As time passed, Bulma spent more days as her father's shadow then sitting at a desk in school. It was during that transitional time that nature molded her lanky arms, pencil frame and delicate features into the woman staring back at her in the mirror.

First to develop a figure, she was thrust into a new, scarier, kind of scrutiny. Boys had finally taken an interest in her. They wanted to carry her books, asked to walk her to class and offered rides home. The need to be accepted, to fill the void of insecurity that made her feel alone even when surrounded by people, was being given its due. Nevertheless, this new thrill was short lived. It wasn't Bulma that these boys wanted, but the mature figure she carried that turned these fun-loving, mud-wrestling boys into ogling eyes and lusting hormones.

Fate, in its fickle humor, had dealt Bulma another bad hand. Her female classmates grew jealous of the attention she was getting which created a larger canyon between her and her peers. She eventually spent more time diving head-first in her hobbies and interests after learning that being independent wasn't as terrible as the school's catty social network dictated it should be.

Once she hit her stride in high school, despite the negativity she encountered, she found a few friends that accepted her for all of her quirks and downfalls. First, she met Goku - a young exchange student too wrapped up in youthful wonder to care about such things as women and social statuses. His drive for adventure easily kept up with Bulma's. Becoming fast friends, she met Yamcha soon after. He was the first boy who was attracted to Bulma by more than just a pretty face. Finally, ChiChi joined their troupe, moving with her father from a trade village in the mountains to the outskirts of West City after her mother passed away. The rag-tag group was inseparable and, for the first time in her life, Bulma felt like she finally found her place in life.

But life couldn't leave her well enough alone.

Her friendships held mostly steadfast, but their dynamics shifted and realigned as unpredictably as tectonic plates. ChiChi fell in love with Goku and he, in his own way, loved her back. Bulma and Yamcha quickly became an item early in their friendship and talk about living a life together quickly developed. They all went off to their colleges and careers and began their own lives. They kept in touch with phone calls, dinners together and late nights out but the familiar void Bulma had felt growing up seemed to reappear as time passed. Busy with responsibilities, working for her father and trying to stay ahead of technologic advances, she still always found a way to carve out time for Yamcha. Even after Yamcha was drafted to the Titans, they always made time for one another.

She surmised that was why their breakup shook her so badly. It came out of nowhere and left her questioning her self-worth as a whole. Pair that with a large account that recently fell through, a multi-million dollar government contract that just experienced a major setback and one of her experiments taking out an entire wing of the Capsule Corp labs and one might define her situation as a 'rough patch'.

Dressed in a stunning mermaid styled sleeveless gown, neckline plunging seductively into royal blue taffeta that shimmered as it hugged against her curvy frame, she longed for a comfortable t-shirt and jeans. Even though she knew she turned heads with her attire, she couldn't help but feel like she was projecting the negativity she was drowning in. Even with the flowing curls cascading around her face and subtle application of makeup around her aquamarines, all she saw was a girl who'd rather be elbow deep in grease and machine parts than have to put on her debonair act and work the crowd.

"Plus," she murmured to herself encouragingly, "You have a bet to win."

Taking one last look in the mirror, she fluffed her curls, adjusted the sweeping skirt of her gown, and headed back into the ballroom.

The room was buzzing with the evening's festivities. People mingled in groups gathered throughout the grand ballroom. Drinks and pleasantries were plenty. Evergreen garland dotted with vibrant red bows and twinkling white lights scalloped the walls. Christmas trees littered with the finest silver ornaments and scarlet garland towered in the corners of the room where seating was offered on luxurious velvet cushions. The trill of a violin from the string quartet floated around the room as the music reached its peak and began its gentle decrescendo to settle just under the conversations of the guests.

Weaving through the crowd towards the bar, she was greeted with casual hello's and brief introductions by business partners with potential connections. Between the polite exchanges, Bulma stole glances towards the table her friends were still sitting at. ChiChi gave her a laughing thumbs down while Goku looked between the exchange torn with who he should be rooting for – his appetite or his longtime childhood friend. Sticking her tongue out at the pair, she finally sidled up next to the self-made millionaire she had been coerced into speaking to.

She was barely given a sideways glance as he continued his conversation with the two muscle-stacked sentinels taking up the majority of available space in front of the bar. Leaning on her arms against the bar top, she casually shifted her weight so one bent leg rested on the foot rail accentuating her hips swaying seductively in the direction of her target. She immediately got the attention of the bartender, as well as a good number of the surrounding men. Ordering a glass of wine, she felt the weight of her earlier thoughts lift as confidence started to take its place.

"Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not interested." A dark voice rumbled beside her.

Taking the drink from the bartender's hand with a nod of thanks, Bulma looked in the direction of the comment only to come face to face to back of a well-tailored suit.

"Excuse me?" Bulma asked indignantly. How dare he just assume her posturing was for him? And even though it was…how dare he be so curt about it?

Her temper sputtered when Mr. Dark-and-Handsome turned to set his full gaze on her. His eyes, deep and piercing, didn't take their focus from hers. His sharp, chiseled jawline seemed even more defined as his brows twitched in an unspoken dare of challenge. Although they were almost the same height, his posture demanded the same respect as the behemoth whose conversation she interrupted and now looking curiously at her.

This was the point where most would mutter a barely coherent apology and scurry away as quickly as their legs could carry them - where the whispers of gossip proceeding Bulma were undoubtedly confirmed and embellished to new heights.

"Since you seem to be deaf, I will repeat myself a touch louder." Irritation intertwined with his low baritone had the same resonation as a growl of warning. "Whatever it is that you are selling, I am not interested."

Common sense would have told her to abandon ship. To fly the flag of defeat because she was embarking on a course that she had no hope of surviving. But it had been a bad couple of weeks for Bulma and her common sense died when she walked by the paparazzi pictures of Yamcha caught with another woman being advertised on the front page of the seedy tabloids lining the newsstands outside of work.

Bulma lifted her chin, anger at his insinuation burning to her core. "And what makes you think I'm selling something?"

Irritation brooding, she lacked the ability to back down.

Eyes glistening in piqued interest, he took a sip of his drink before leaning an elbow casually against the bar. "There is only one reason why a woman would be dressed like that at a function like this…one who is trying to separate a man from his money. So whether you're selling me a pitch, what's between your legs, or both…I'm not interested."

Bulma ignored the nervous chuckles and hushed whispers of those eavesdropping on their exchange. Drawing her shoulders back, she set her glass of wine down carefully.

"I would rather watch my father's company burn to the ground then allow your dirty, greedy paws to touch one dime that's involved with our corporation." Her voice was calm and clear even though she could feel herself starting to shake in rage from his insult. "And I wouldn't let you come anywhere near what's between my legs. There isn't enough money in the world to make me occupy the same room with a dickless scumbag like yourself."

The corner of his mouth lifted a millimeter. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he leaned in towards her. "I'd be more than happy to show you just how large of a dick I have. I'll have my secretary contact you to make an appointment."

As Bulma opened up her mouth to spit out her retort, the sound behind her made her sputter.

"Bulma?" The sound of her name washed over her like a bucket of ice water. Taking a heartbeat to draw in a shallow breath, she slowly turned towards the man she had been going out of her way to avoid all evening.

Yamcha's face was full of worry as his studied her. "Is everything okay, Bee?"

She cringed away as he reached out to rest a supportive hand on her shoulder. It hovered awkwardly in the air for a second before it drifted back down to his side.

"I'm fine, Yamcha," Bulma choked out. The spark of anger from her conversation with Mr. Dark-and-Handsome was extinguished. Haughty demeanor collapsing in on itself, she glanced around for the most convenient exit.

"Are you sure?" His eyes flickered to the figure standing silently behind her. "I came over for a drink and overheard your conversation. I just wanted to make sure…"

"Thank you for worrying but I'm okay." She focused on her words to try to hide the quiver in her voice. This was her first time talking to him since she kicked him out of the house. She wasn't prepared for the unsetting swell of emotions flooding over her. Hate, fear, gratefulness, doubt, sadness…they all crashed into each other in haphazard organization both one at a time and all at once. As hot tears stung her eyes, she half pleaded in a hushed whisper, "Please go."

"But B-"

"She said she's fine." The gruff, sharp tone of Mr. Dark-and-Handsome quieted the whispered conversations around them.

Bulma looked down with a silent plea for one of the holiday decorations to catch on fire before the exchange turned into more of a spectacle then it already was. She could see the headlines slamming her yet again. This time caught between a strange man from way off her radar and her ex fiancé.

"Excuse me," squeaked the muffled sound of ChiChi's voice carrying over the gathering crowd. People shifted to the side to let her through.

"Bulma!" ChiChi gasped, pushing through the suit jackets and sequin wall surrounding Bulma. She reached out and grabbed Bulma's arm, shooting Yamcha a dirty look. "There you are! Goku wants to see you before the auction. Come on!"

Allowing herself to be dragged back through the aisle ChiChi had created, Bulma was grateful for the interruption. She couldn't help glancing back over her shoulder at Mr. Dark-and-Handsome as the crowd started to dissipate with excited laughter and conversation rehashing her exchange with the two men.

Still leaning against the bar, he carefully watched her over the rim of his glass, smiling mischievously into his drink.


	3. Consessions

"I still think being held hostage on a date with the guy constitutes a win." Bulma grumbled to the growing stack of dirty dishes. She stood with arms crossed while ChiChi finished adding the last of the lunch plates to the already leaning tower.

"You'll be fine," ChiChi gave Bulma a pat on the back, feigning sympathy. "Being forced to spend time with him might not be all that bad. Look at it this way; at least you're getting a free meal out of it courtesy of the Titans." She threw over her shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen.

With a loud humph! Bulma started the dreaded task of washing, scrubbing and drying from the remnants of ChiChi's extravagant lunch.

"I should seriously consider getting a dishwasher." Bulma complained to no one in particular as her thoughts wandered.

Despite Bulma losing the bet, ChiChi did have a point. It would be nice to step away from work and get out of the house for an evening and have a nice dinner out.

Of all people at the event, though, why did it have to be him?

In a moment of weakness, Bulma had impulsively signed up to be a part of the charity auction for the event. In past years, some companies chose to donate lavish vacations to help raise funds for the Titan's Charity Gala while others offered spa passes, concert tickets, and a whole slew of temptations that could be bid on by both small and large wallets alike. The most anticipated event of the Gala was always the last to close the evening – the date auction.

The week during the government contract mishap was Bulma's breaking point. Feeling sorry for herself and needing the affirmation that she was still wanted in some regard, she decided to purchase a spot in the date auction. The entry fee wasn't exorbitant and she didn't mind parting with a fraction of her paycheck knowing it was going to a good cause. Her motives were more selfish, though, then helping the needy. Her goal was to use the auction as a way to prove to Yamcha, as well as herself, that she was a person worthy of being desired, shallow or not. Since it would be the first time she would be going to such an event unattached, she was hoping that she would catch the interest of the attendees.

But, she thought miserably, resisting the urge to smash a plate against the sink, that certainly backfired.

Nerves about standing in front of the crowed eventually caught up to her Bulma began to second guess her decision to be in the auction. She was so shaken by the unexpected encounter with Yamcha, only minutes before the anticipated event, that she had considered leaving and sending a check for the money lost in her absence.

Bulma wanted be a part of the event to prove to herself that she was getting over him; that he was just a silly stepping-stone on her way to who she was destined to become in her father's self-created empire. It took only a brief encounter with Yamcha to make her confidence pitch with uncertainty. Thank Kami for ChiChi, in all of her overbearing mothering instinct, to come to Bulma's aid and help get her out of the embarrassing mess that had her cornered.

When she walked up the stairs to flaunt her assets for charity, her ears rang with the words that were spit at her from the target who's number she had failed to get.

Whatever it is that you're selling, I'm not interested, he had jeered. Standing on stage, she felt like the streetwalker that he had insinuated she was. Putting on a fake smile and strutting a flirtatious saunter, she did her best to separate herself from the crowd and try to put the charity ahead of her selfish thoughts.

Guests called out their offers, predictably desiring Capsule Corp's next heir for an evening. Winning would give the highest bidder the opportunity to make a strong networking connection. It was also a chance for some to try an attempt to loosen her legs with charm and promise of wealth. Because of this possible trophy to obtain, bragging rights of bedding the newly single Bulma Briefs could be obtained in some of the bidders' diluted minds.

Each bidder had an agenda and with every bid while Bulma had a harder time feeling confident in her decision to follow through with participating.

Two men, both drooling over her as if business was the last thing on their minds, started a vigorous bidding war. Her heart fluttered with the thrill of excitement when it reached ten thousand dollars. She couldn't believe it when the price climbed up to twenty thousand. In a moment of panicked clarity, Bulma realized that such a highly paid dollar might carry the expectation of engaging in some type of physical repayment to the winner.

Panic starting to rise, her eyes darted to the stairs as she tried to decide on her escape route before anyone could stopped her.

It was the ending bid that made her jaw yawn in disbelief. A dark voice, commanding the immediate attention of the room, boomed out a bid of fifty thousand dollars.

The room became eerily silent as all attention turned towards the caller's origin. The auctioneer had stuttered at the amount that had escalated to twenty thousand before the call of fifty.

Recovering from the shock, the auctioneer repeated the new bid. "Fifty thousand dollars going once."

Bulma could feel herself paling at the realization that he had bested her –

"Going twice,"

– after she had snidely remarked that there wasn't enough money in the world to force her to be in the same room with him.

"Aaaand…."

A dramatic pause dragged over the crowd. The sharp rapping of a wooden gavel on the podium punctuated the words, "Sold! To Mr. Vegeta Breigh for fifty thousand dollars!"

Bulma wanted to die.

Remembering the way he lifted his glass of scotch in toast at her from across the room, smug look of satisfaction glimmering on his face, had her blood boiling with the same hateful fervor as it did when she finally gathered herself and stomped off the stage.

The crash of shattering porcelain startled her from her memory. At her feet lay the broken pieces of the plate that slipped from her soapy fingers.

"Seriously?!" Bulma yelled in renewed frustration.

Drying off her hands and throwing the towel at the counter, she went to the closet to get the broom and dustpan. As she was sweeping up the jagged pieces of porcelain littering the floor, she resolved to go for a long, brisk run before getting ready for her evening's torture.

"That's what you're wearing tonight?" ChiChi's disapproval was obvious in the way she wrinkled her nose at her roommate.

"What's wrong with my outfit?" Bulma asked looking down at her blue jeans and cream top.

"Nothing," ChiChi sighed. "I just thought Tivondra was supposed to be an upscale restaurant, that's all."

"It is." Slumped on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, Bulma continued to flip through the channels ignoring her friend's criticism.

ChiChi joined her on the couch, giving Bulma a sideways glance. "Don't you want to, I don't know, dress a bit nicer for the atmosphere?"

"Why?" Bulma snapped in irritation. "I don't even want to go on this stupid date. I shouldn't have signed up for it in the first place. Now I'm stuck suffering through an entire evening because some asshole had to prove how big his dick was."

ChiChi was silent for a moment as she watched the sitcom Bulma had stopped on. "He paid a lot of money for a good cause, Bulma." She offered softly.

"So now I need to play the role of a prostitute because he had fifty grand to waste just to prove a point?" Throwing the remote onto the coffee table, Bulma crossed her arms with a frustrated pout. "Are you going to suggest I sleep with him since he decided to overbid? I mean, he did pay an awfullot of money, so I guess that's only right in your eyes too, right?"

ChiChi threw her hands up in defense, Bulma's anger billowing in full-force.

"Hey! Just think for a minute!" ChiChi protested. "This is the first time you'll be out with a guy on a date that isn't Yamcha. The bid made the evening's news for the most raised funds at the Charity Gala in over a decade. It's not like the details of the auction are a secret, since they end up on all of the tabloids and gossip shows anyways. You don't think people are going to be watching you the moment you step foot in Tivondra?"

A long pause passed as Bulma digested ChiChi's irritating wisdom. "I guess you're right, Cheech." Bulma consented.

"For as smart as you are, you're awfully dumb sometimes." ChiChi teased, pulling a reluctant smile from her friend. "Come on, I'll help you look more…like a new and improved you."

"Wow," Bulma rolled her eyes, "You really know how to make a girl feel special, huh?"

Dragging Bulma off the couch, ChiChi headed upstairs with Bulma in tow.

ChiChi dove into Bulma's closet head first as she rummaged through the array of clothes Bulma owned before she plucked select garments off their hangers. Laying different combinations out on the bed, ChiChi chose a complete outfit and handed it to Bulma. She shooed her unmotivated friend into the bathroom to change.

"Well?" Came Bulma's question, interrupting ChiChi who was looking through her jewelry box. She turned around with a short gold necklace, pearls cascading from the delicate chain, in-hand. An approving smile slid across ChiChi's face as her grumpy roommate hovered in the doorway separating the bedroom from the bathroom suite.

Bulma was now dressed to impress and ChiChi was quite proud of herself.

Bulma donned an almost sheer long sleeve cream blouse held together by a row of gold buttons nestled low down the front of the dipping neckline. She had it tucked into an elastic waistband of a plum skirt settled just above her hips. The skirt's scalloped hem stopped mid-thigh with just enough length to bend over without showing what was concealed underneath. Black nylons complimented the colors with a pair of velvet grey-wedged boots stopping above her ankle made the outfit more winter friendly. ChiChi handed her the necklace and beamed at the completed outfit.

Checking herself out in the mirror as she fumbled with the clasp, Bulma couldn't help but smile.

"I forgot how fashionable you used to be before you got all conservative dating Goku." Bulma swiveled from side to side admiring the ensemble.

"Your welcome?" ChiChi muttered.

"No…seriously," Bulma pulled her into a hug. "I love it. Thank you for looking out for me."

"Kami knows someone has to." ChiChi smiled, stepping back. "Now put some makeup on and do something with your hair."

"Yes ma'am." Bulma faked a military salute on her way back into the bathroom to do just that.

After taking the time to finish putting herself together, Bulma came bounding down the stairs. Feeling a bit like her old self, ready to tear up the town until the wee hours of the evening, she felt refreshed after her long hiatus from society.

"Someone seems happy about her evening tonight." Goku called approvingly from the couch.

"Goku!" Bulma gasped, startled. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"He came over to watch a movie with me." ChiChi said, coming out of the kitchen cradling a bowl of popcorn.

"Don't tell me you're going to cook dinner for him again…" groaned Bulma.

"No, she's not." Goku chuckled with a wink. His warm smile was contagious. "I offered to order a pizza so Cinderella could have the morning off."

Walking to the back of the couch, Bulma bent over and gave her old pal a hug. "Thank you. The evil step-sister has been working my delicate hands down to the bone with cleaning up after lavishly uncharacteristic meals lately."

ChiChi settled in next to Goku who slung a lazy arm across her shoulders. "The evil step-sister might change her mind and try an attempt at making a deluxe pizza from scratch."

"Okay!" Bulma said, straightening up and laughing. "You win! It would be nice to wake up without the leaning tower of pizza dishes to greet me in the morning."

Grabbing her favorite waist-length leather biker jacket and purse from the closet, she looked at the two cuddling on the couch from the front door. A pang of jealousy tugged at her. She was grateful to have both of them in her lives, and she couldn't be more thrilled that they were together, but that didn't stop the reminder of the evenings she would share with Yamcha snuggling on the couch watching TV. There were times, such as this, where she felt like a third wheel. She knew it was never purposeful, and she never let on that she thought such things, but she was still finding it difficult to adjust from the way things used to be to how her life was now.

Looking at the cardboard box holding the last of Yamcha's things in the closet, she felt determined to close the door on that chapter of her life and start to move on. She gave it a hard kick with the toe of her boot, making the love birds on the couch turn curiously towards her.

"Make sure to tell Yamcha to come by sometime soon to pick up the rest of his stuff." Bulma called to Goku. "Or better yet, just take it to him when you leave. I'm sick of looking at it. I'm off to dinner. I'll see you guys later!"

"Okay, have fun!" They both called as she shut the door behind her.


	4. Wine and Dine

Awkward silence hung over the table seated for two. More correctly, awkward silence seemed to hover over Bulma as she skimmed the drink menu. Vegeta sat nonchalantly, unfazed by her nervous silence as they waited for their server to greet them and take their drink order.

She had entered the restaurant to find that Tivondra lived up to the hype of fine dining. Clean white linens covered the traditionally set tables, yet complimented a perfect transition into elegantly contemporary décor. The low lighting complimented the bright whites as deep shadows gave the space dramatic flair. The people were as elegantly dressed as the room and Bulma silently thanked ChiChi for dragging her into her bedroom to change.

She had walked up to the concierge to give the reservation name when she was intercepted by her date for the evening. Startled by the way he seemed to materialize from the shadows, the hint of amusement at her surprise was subtle but noticed, she tried to hide her surprise with a coughing fit. He studied her, but not the way one would try to undress a woman with their eyes. No, his focus was on her face as his eyes moved almost undetected to study her features. She couldn't help but feel herself blush, turning away with a nervous smile to shield herself from the intense scrutiny. Being noticed without the hungry lust-filled stares was both flattering and unnerving.

Vegeta stood dark and handsome, just as he did at the Gala. He appeared as calm and calculating as he was when he threw his insults at her at the bar. His eyes sharp and unyielding, she was waiting for this overly sophisticated man to shred her newly found confidence with one well-placed quip at her expense. Despite her fear, no one around them seemed to pay attention to the two whose exchange at the Gala was publicized in papers and gossip shows for days after. The patrons mostly ignored the two of them, already desensitized to well-known figures due to the clientele that frequented Tivondria.

Sneaking a look at Vegeta's appearance, she noted that the suit he wore tonight was a different color. It was made with even finer quality then she remembered him wearing at the Gala. The lavish charcoal suit, spun with elegant threads of wool and cashmere, reflected a subtle sheen in the dim lighting. Fighting the urge to reach out to feel the suit's texture, she stopped herself when the attendant called for them to follow as they were taken to their table.

Gesturing in gentleman's grace for Bulma to take the lead, she walked confidently through the maze of tables doing her best to ignore the tables that began to show subtle signs of recognition of who they were. A firm but gentle hand pressed against the small of her back as Vegeta stepped beside her. Distracted by the feathery touch of his hand through the thin chiffon fabric of her blouse, the heel of her shoe caught on the carpeting. Catching herself with more grace then she gave herself credit for, she hoped no one detected her misstep. As the contact of his hand pressed harder with more support as he guided her to their seat, Bulma flushed a second time realizing her klutziness didn't go unnoticed.

The warmth of his hand, mixed with the smell of sandalwood from his cologne, made her heart flutter. She had been acutely aware of his close proximity, which made her feel unbalanced – a sensation that a woman in the driver's seat of a multibillion-dollar company wasn't used to experiencing. The new, unfamiliar sensation seeped into her veins like a heady drug.

"If you adjust the silverware one more time," his smooth voice quipped, bringing Bulma back to the table, "They may hire you to set all of the tables to Tivondra's already high standards."

"Sorry," Bulma mumbled, letting go of the fork and grabbing the drink menu again.

Hiding the heat spreading across her cheeks from her interrupted thoughts behind the menu, she looked around anxiously to see if any of the wait staff weaving around the tables were heading in their direction.

When the server finally arrived at the table, a basket of warm bread with an olive oil seasoned dip in tow, Vegeta ordered a scotch on the rocks. She ordered a Cabernet. The server gave them dinner menus and left in the direction of the bar.

"So the infamous Ms. Bulma Briefs enjoys the faux sophisticated drinks?" Her date asked.

"Just as much as Mr. Vegeta Breigh seems to predictably lean towards the stuffy classics." She replied.

"Predictable?" A sly smile spread across his lips. "I'm sure I can be pretty capricious if the mood is ripe enough."

His choice of words mixed with her imagination helped to smolder the fire the heat that his hand had ignited. The quick wit laden with innuendo was just as addicting as it was intriguing. Feeling a bit more confident, she had the urge to test just how fast his retorts could fire. The thought that she was almost a step behind his wit was intoxicating. As much as she wanted to show him that she was smarter, she didn't want to look like a fool if she couldn't keep up with witty conversation.

Bulma reminded herself that tonight she had nothing to prove.

She reached in the basket and took a piece of the warm bread. Soaking it in the oil, she looked at Vegeta through her eyelashes only to catch him watching her. Feeling her cheeks heat yet again, she cursed at herself silently.

Was there ever a time when a man actually saw just her? What was it about her holding all of his attention that made her feel so unbalanced around him?

She was grateful when the waiter dropped off their drinks. Their orders were taken, menus gathered and then once again left alone to sit in heavy silence.

"So you started the company Train Insane?" Bulma asked. She wished the laughter at the bar or the cough from behind her would distract him and give her a moment to breathe.

"In a way." The corners of his mouth tugged upward when she raised her brows in expectation of an explination.

"Well that's not ambiguous at all." He was impudent at the Gala but this mysterious air that seemed to emit from him was a welcome, albeit odd change.

"I did start it; however I am only the brain of the company."

"What else is there besides the brain?"

"Now that," he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, "Is quite an ignorant question coming from someone who helps to run and oversee her father's company."

Normally she would bristle at the assumed hidden insult. She was no idiot. Instead, she sipped her drink thoughtfully.

"The man you were with at the Gala?" She remembered him well. If it weren't the massive height that made him so memorable, putting the man well over a head taller than any other patron, it was the muscles straining the ill-fitted blazer jacket. "He's the grunt of the company?"

"No," The way his jaw set in offense after her question gave her another hint.

"Not a grunt…" She trailed off as their salads arrived at the table. She thought of the way Vegeta's muscles in his neck twitched in agitation at the word grunt. Tossing the lettuce with the dressing, she continued, "Someone close that came into the business world when the company first started? Someone you'd consider family?"

Swallowing a forkful, he answered, "Correct. A close friend of my family had the drive to start the business, but lacked the resources. I backed him financially with the agreement that I would oversee the running of the business."

"So you leech off of another man's ideas, someone who's practically family, for your own financial gain?" Bulma accused. "That, indeed, sounds honorable."

She didn't intend to spit the words out with such disgust, but she remembered the way the jacket pulled awkwardly on the man. Did Vegeta take such a large portion of the profits that his 'close family friend' couldn't even afford to buy himself a suit that fit properly?

Laying his fork down and pushing his salad aside. He regarded her for a long moment before answering, "I'm not sure how helping someone realize their dream is considered leeching?"

"How is it not? You take someone's ideas, their heart and soul, and twist it to fill your own wallet!" She did her best to keep her voice under control despite her outrage at his self-centered naivety. "You don't help them with their dreams, you steal them."

Some of the conversations around their table trailed off mid-sentence as the nearest ones glanced curiously at them. Clearing her throat, Bulma gulped down more of her.

She didn't know what was going on with her. One moment she was coming undone just by his gaze and the next she wanted to pummel the haughty demeanor out of him. Her emotions were playing tug o' war with her psyche and the string between the two was becoming more tense by the minute. With a few, hopefully masked, deep breaths Bulma looked up at him with regained composure.

"I'm not sure I understand how you find yourself in a more righteous position then myself," Vegeta crooned. The little composure she had gained carelessly slipped through her fingers by his words. "In fact, I find it funny that you seem to be under a delusion that you're better than myself when it comes to other people's hopes and dreams."

"Excuse me?!" The sudden flare of heated anger raised her voice a few pitches. The conversations around them hushed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

A nervous server cleared his throat next to their table. Leaning back in his chair, Vegeta made space on the table for dinner as the server took their salad plates and set their dinners in front of them. Eyeing their glasses, another round was offered to them both. Vegeta answered yes when Bulma replied no at the same time.

"Another round for the woman and myself." Vegeta stated matter-of-factly. Eyes widening at the tone, the server nodded and left to fetch them more drinks.

Picking up her fork, Bulma stabbed at her buttered scallops in frustration. Cutting one in half with the fork, she shoved it in her mouth while glaring at the calm figure across from her who was almost smiling to himself.

Pummel him to death, she decided sourly.

Once their drinks arrived, she defended herself quietly, "The funds my father's company obtains goes into research and development. Not one penny goes towards anything other then what those checks are intended for."

"And what happens when those projects fall through?" He questioned, cutting into his steak. She watched as the red-tinted juice spread decadently on the plate.

"We try to figure out what went wrong and give it another go." She answered. She watched him bite the cooked meat with reddened center off the tip of his fork. She suppressed a shudder as her imagination tugged in the direction of all the things he might be capable of with that mouth. What the hell is my problem? She couldn't shake the thought away as she cut into her asparagus.

"Do you ever reimburse those patrons whose projects go under completely?" She couldn't help but feel he was poking at her the way one would poke at dull embers, coaxing them to reignite and lap hungrily at a fresh piece of wood.

"No." She grit out as she focused her attention on eating. She refused to take the bait, even if her irritation demanded she engage him.

"So, if I understand correctly, I salvage a company that is far beyond the point of profitability unable to miracle itself out of the money pit it has fallen into. I breathe life back into it until it becomes a self-sustaining success and take a minor percentage of the dividends for my time, talent and effort. If the company fails, the owners not only lose their entire business and more, but I'm out of my invested funds and take the loss the same as them. I give them a small loan with mentoring and consultation and ask to be compensated accordingly." The waiter came by to gather some empty plates and glasses then quickly excused himself. "That, by your definition, is considered leeching." His eyes shone cruelly knowing he had Bulma cornered, "But when you gladly take a person's money and give them absolutely no payback, either material or financial and you remain whole, that's considered kind and just? Is that what you used as your excuse with the government project you almost tanked?"

With as much self-control as she could muster, Bulma laid her silverware carefully on the table. Finishing chewing, she washed it down with the last of her wine. Reeling from not only his hurtful comment, but knowing he had connections to confidential insight of Capsule Corporation's contracts, she made sure to carefully set the glass down instead of whipping it at his head. Balling up her napkin, she threw it on her plate and stood.

"If you'll excuse me," She spat the words at him with venom as she pushed in her chair, "I have other people's investments to waste." Voice catching as she held back tears, the comment about the government contract cut more deeply then she thought was capable. "I'm sorry that your purchase of a date with me didn't end the way you might have hoped. I guess I'm just a whore for money and lack the ability to seal the deal."

Without another word, and before Vegeta's dumbfounded open mouth could utter any more insults at her, she turned and stormed out of the restaurant without bothering to stop at the coat check on her way out.


	5. Fickle Fate

Bulma rubbed her eyes as an infomercial droned on from the television. Groggy and irritated, the insistent tap tap tap on the front door repeated, followed by another chime of the doorbell making her cringe.

Grumbling, she dragged herself off the couch. Stumbling over an empty bottle of wine, now rolling under the sectional, she tugged at her twisted shorts indecently riding up her backside. The persistent knocking was making her throbbing headache worse.

"Alright, alright!" She yelled at the door. "Hold your freaking horses."

Unlatching the deadbolt, she opened the door. Seeing the familiar face staring back at her, worry knitted on his brow, sent a chill of recognition racing through her mind. Limbs almost to numb to move, Bulma started to close the door in his face.

His hand slapped on the solid wood to stop it.

"Bulma, wait." Yamcha protested. "I'm just here to get my things and see how you're doing. Please, just let me come in."

"I am way too hung over for this." She muttered under her breath. Letting go of the door, she allowed it groan open as she stepped back with a sigh and an exaggerated sweep of her arm. "Fine, Yamcha. Come in."

Crossing the threshold, he eyed her cautiously as she left him in the doorway to go to the kitchen. He followed her silently, taking in the house they had shared together such a short time ago.

Getting herself a glass of water, she didn't bother to offer one to him. Instead, she stood leaning with her hip resting on the counter, arms crossed and drink in hand.

"I…um…" Yamcha stammered, fidgeting with the wine key on the counter of the kitchen's island. "I heard from Goku that you took a few days off from work. Is everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't everything be okay?" Bulma didn't bother hiding her sarcasm.

"After that auction-date thing, Chi-Chi had mentioned you didn't seem like yourself and told Goku you took some days off of work." His rushed the words out. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Bulma opened her arms and gestured at herself, "Still in one piece, Yamcha." She refolded her arms and sipped the water. "I'm sure after everything you put me through, you'd have learned that I can take care of myself by now."

"Come on, Bulma! That's totally uncalled –"

"No, Yamcha, it's not." The harsh bang of her glass on the counter punctuated her interruption. "You didn't bother giving one ounce of a crap when you decided to see that girl behind my back. You didn't even bother telling me that you were on your way out of our relationship and, instead, let the media run loose with the story instead of letting me be the first to know that I was old news. I had to deal with that media storm myself. The fallout, the unending questions and the incessant hounding was my parting gift while you got off scot-free to do whomever, whenever you wanted. You didn't seem to care about me then, so I don't understand why you suddenly grew a conscious now."

The uncomfortable air around them swelled with silence.

Yamcha was the first to move, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Bulma, I will always care about you."

The pleading in his eyes pulled at her heart. As furious as she was, a deep part of her longed to feel his familiar arms pull her into a hug. The friendship and the history between them was battling with the broken heart he had given her. Wishing that such an embrace could sweep away the tarnish etched in her memory, she gently brushed his hand off her shoulder.

"Thank you for your concern, Yamcha, but I'll be alright." She smiled weakly at him. "I just needed a few days for myself."

"Are you sure? That Breigh guy didn't hurt you, did he?" He asked, eyes searching her face for the truth.

"Vegeta?" The reminder of her and Vegeta's conversation sparked up her residual anger. "He didn't lay a finger on me. We had dinner and I left."

She knew she wasn't completely convincing, the down side to having an ex that literally grew up with her and knew all of her tells, but to her relief Yamcha didn't press her further.

"If he does anything to you, you better tell Goku or me." His eyes held a dark promising threat that she couldn't help but smile at despite the irony. "We'll teach that meat-head some manners."

"Yes, sir." She said with mock salute. "I should get to work and try to catch up on the work I've missed anyway. I'm hoping the office didn't implode on itself."

Halfheartedly nodding in agreement, she could tell Yamcha had hoped she was going to ask him to stick around for a while. Keep dreaming, she thought sadly.

Walking him to the door, she picked up the box of memories and tokens he had left behind when he moved out and handed them back to him.

"Thanks." He took them from her reluctantly. "If you drive into work tonight, be careful alright? The news keeps going on and on about this snowstorm that's supposed to be blowing in for the weekend. The media has dubbed it the Snowpocalypse."

"I will do so." Bulma nodded, leaning against the door frame. "Thank you for checking up on me, Yamcha. I'll be okay…like always."

The sound of the door shutting behind Yamcha resonated deeply throughout the room.

Even though she was glad to have the box gone, giving it to him echoed with finality that their relationship was irrevocably over. Walking back into the living room, she stood with hands on her hips to survey the fallout of the bomb that exploded after she came home from dinner. Dirty dishes, a few partially empty wine and liquor bottles and random articles of clothing were scattered on the floor.

It's no wonder Chi-Chi had mentioned my being home to Goku, she thought in disgust. Content that she had friends that watched out for her, even if one of them was a cheating liar, she worked on finishing the living room before heading upstairs to put herself together and stop in at work.

>>>>>>

A tower of paperwork blocked her view of the clock. The window facing the street was the only indication that it was long past a respectable dinnertime. Guessing that it was hours after quitting time, she pushed herself away from the table with a long stretch for her stiff muscles. The peaceful bubbling of fluids harmonized with machines whirring their own secret conversations added to the tranquility around her. No matter how tumultuous her life was, Bulma always found solace when she was elbows deep in her work.

Too tired to bother getting things put away for the weekend, she wearily eyed the stack of papers that she hadn't finished yet. They validated why she never bothered with taking sick days anymore. Longing for the carefree abandon of leaving her work and experiments behind to pick them back up at her leisure, she shrugged her lab coat off and dressed to meet the storm outside.

Pausing to look out the window, she watched the snow piling up on the street and sidewalks. The weather forecasters had actually been accurate with their doom-and-gloom warnings of nonstop snowfall for once. Few cars risked travel, save for a brave random driver that inched their way along the road and towards their destination. With a tug on the zipper of her jacket and the wish for a warmer winter coat, she hit the lights and made her way to the parking garage.

Yanking the keys out of her pocket, she opened the door to her little blue Toyota and sank inside. Starting the car, she breathed into her cold hands. Agitated that she forgot her hat and gloves at home, she waited for the engine to heat up before embarking on the slow drive home. It took a few frosty minutes before she was on her way to leave her Friday behind and spend the night curled on the couch with a good book and hot chocolate in hand.

Driving in the faint tire tracks from earlier travelers, she made her way to the freeway with the heat blasting while singing along with Foreigner at the top of her lungs. Lost in another chorus of Jukebox Hero, she didn't see her battery light pop on. She was belting out the details of the six string bought at a second hand store when her music cut out. Glancing at the radio, the face of it was dim. She realized something was wrong with her car when her entire dash went dark and the car shuddered in protest.

"Nononononono!" She moaned as she guided the car over to the side of the road as far as the snow would allow to avoid being sideswiped by a plow truck. Silently hoping she could get the car to restart, she braved the cold and popped the hood to make sure the connection to the battery was secure. After wiggling the connectors and validating they were in place, she slammed the hood and trudged back to the driver seat.

She tried the key and the dash flickered. "Seriously?" She yelled when the starter clicked but the engine refused to turn over. Punching the wheel in frustration, the weak cry of the horn startling her, she grabbed her purse. Digging out her phone call a tow truck she swiped the screen.

Nothing happened.

"What the heck…" She held the button on the side to turn it on but the phone sat dead in her hand. Her phone was unresponsive.

A colorful string of profanities tumbled out one after another when disbelief cleared and Bulma realized her phone was dead.

She whipped the useless phone at the floor of the passenger seat and rested her head against the steering wheel. Taking deep breaths to stop the hysteria starting to build with the realization of being stranded on the side of the road during one of the worst snowstorms since who-knows-when, she closed her eyes. Pressing the palms of her hands against her cheeks, she rubbed her face as she tried to guess how far away she was from an off ramp. Already dreading the frigid walk in the snow, the wind shook the little Toyota in an effort to unhinge her further.

Reluctantly, she got out of the car.

The snow, already piled well above her knees with no lull in the swirling flakes, floated silently down from the heavens. Completely disoriented from the drifts and piles of white around her, she figured she would push ahead. Hoping her memory was correct as she recalled seeing a sign telling drivers an exit was a mile and a half up the freeway, she pulled at her coat, shoved her hands in her pockets and started the lonely artic trek.

After what seemed like 15 minutes, Bulma felt like she was making good progress. Well, as good of progress as one could make when the proper clothing - like snow pants, gloves, scarf, hat and a thick ski jacket – was conveniently tucked safely away in a closet at home.

The walk was peacefully quiet. It seemed that everyone had decided to avoid braving the roadways until an engine and scraping noise, getting louder, followed behind her. Turning around, she saw a highway plow truck barreling down the road as it pushed a massive curling wave of snow and slush away from the road. She stopped, arms waving overhead to signal that she needed help.

As the truck got closer, she yelled out for the driver to stop. The driver either didn't see her or didn't care about her distress enough to slow down and help. As it drew closer, her eyes widened at the snow that was getting close enough to bury her. Cursing at her luck, she tripped over herself to get away from the side of the road. In her rush, she didn't see the way the ground sloped steeply underfoot. She tripped and rolled down the hill into the ditch, landing in a puddle of partially frozen water hiding under the snow.

Despite the sting of the cold against her entire backside, she lay in the water deflated. She stared up at the sky as the flakes swirled dizzily above her.

"Really Kami!?" She yelled to the heavens' demigod, halfheartedly waving her fist at the puffy clouds hanging low and swollen above. "What did I do so wrong to deserve this?!"

Bulma debated if it would be better to freeze to death where she lay or risk the walk home. She half expected the latter would surely finish her off but she decided to try her hand at finding a dry place to call a tow, despite her recent odds of success. Rolling out of the icy slop, the mix of wet and wind instantly froze her to the bone. Jeans completely drenched, boots squishing with every step and hair muddy and matted to the back of her head, she climbed out of the ditch and back onto the road.

Could tonight get any worse? She wondered miserably as she continued on her quest to find a freeway exit.

She walked alone and shivering, hands numb and legs stinging from the cold. A rare car would creep by without offering help or concern. She glared at each of the red taillights leaving her behind. She felt like her legs were plowing through the snow for close to an hour before a sleek black Audi hummed in a crawl next to her. As the passenger window slid smoothly downward, she walked towards it to talk to the driver.

Bending over, teeth chattering, she was about to pour out her gratitude that someone had stopped until she saw who the good samaritan was. There sat Vegeta, all warm and handsomely bundled, behind the wheel.

"Nope." She said as she turned away from the car and continued in the direction she was walking. Thanks, universe, for proving me wrong, she thought as the car crawled alongside of her.

"Hey!" Came a yell from the car. "Woman! Stop walking!"

She waved the vehicle around her calling over her shoulder, "I don't need any help from you. Move along please."

The car stopped. Ignoring it, she walked ahead with eyes fixed on the bridge she hoped had an exit ramp. She pretended not to hear the car door open and slam shut. Even when he grabbed her arm, she tried to wrench away from him and to continue on, even as her feet stopped moving.

"I said," She whipped around to face him. "I don't need any help from you."

Regarding her with a frown, he shook his head in disbelief.

"You are wet, dirty and your lips are starting to turn blue from the cold." The fingers wrapped around her arm tightened. "You have two options. Option one, you get into my car and warm up. Option two, I make you get into my car and warm up."

"You wouldn't dare." She challenged with narrowed eyes. Digging her heels in the snow, she refused to make any move towards the promise of warmth.

With an audible sigh, Vegeta yanked her towards him. When she resisted, he grabbed her around the waist and smoothly hoisted her onto his shoulder. A shrill scream of defiance barely pierced through the insulating white as she tried to kick out of his ironclad grip.

"Put me down you barbarian!" She howled as her fists thudded dully against his back.

Ignoring her, he opened the passenger door and dumped her inside. Warning her to stay put with a look not to be tried; he slammed her door shut then circled the car.

Putting the car in gear, he angled the heating vents towards her and turned the blowers on high. He pressed a button below the controls and she felt heat radiating from under her backside almost instantaneously.

"Lean back and warm up." He commanded without looking at her.

"But I'll get your seats all gross and dirty." She protested through chattering teeth. Once she got in the car, she couldn't stop shaking. Muscles tensing, already fatigued from the cold, she ached everywhere but she couldn't stop the violent shivering.

He gave her a level look before answering her, "I'll take it to a detail shop in the morning if I need to. It's leather so I'm not going to lose sleep over it. If I had a fabric interior, I'd strap you to the roof instead."

"Oh, ha ha ha." She grumbled as she leaned back. Heat enveloped her from all sides as she tucked her hands between her thighs.

"How did you end up on the side of the road, anyway?"

"I think my alternator went. A few days ago, my battery was dead when I went to start my car. Since it was close to four years old, I figured it was the battery. Turns out, I was wrong. The engine stalled when I was driving so now I have to get under the hood and replace the alternator and hope that fixes the problem."

"You work on your own car?" He asked in surprise.

"Of course! What would you expect from a lead engineer? Why would I pay someone else to do a shoddy job when I can fix it myself?" She asked staring out the window.

"You definitely did a great job the first time around. I guess you had to reward yourself with a snowstorm stroll to celebrate?"

"Sure, why not?" She grumbled, missing the joke. "So where are you dropping me off at?"

"We're going back to my place." He said.

"Yeah…thanks but no thanks. You can just drop me off at a gas station. I can call for a tow and my roommate to come pick me up."

"No. You're coming home with me. The tow trucks won't be pulling cars out of this until the snow stops. Life threatening assistance only would be my guess. Plus, the roads are too treacherous and only a fool would decide to venture out in this, friend in duress or not."

"So you're admitting you're a fool?"

Amusement glistened in Vegeta's eyes. "I drive an all-wheel drive RS5 equipped with snow tires. I make sure that I'm prepared for weather like this. So the question is: is the true fool the one driving the car or the one walking along the side of a highway in the middle of a snowstorm that gets rescued by said fool?"

"Point taken." Bulma mumbled as her uncontrollable tremors began to subside. "Do you have a cell I can borrow to call my roommate?"

"Of all people that I would expect the latest and greatest gadgets from, how do you not have a cell phone?" He asked in annoyance.

"I do." She replied sheepishly, "It's dead."

"Both a dead car and a dead phone on an evening like this?" He shook his head in wonder.

He handed his phone over so she could make the call. Dialing ChiChi's number, grateful they were friends long before electronic address books and cell phones were more of a fashion statement then a necessity. Bulma turned towards the window for feigned privacy as the phone rang.


End file.
